Suffragette Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘You’re far from ugly.’

  ‘I know.’ Isobel put her head on one side and regarded her friend. ‘But you’re the one to whom the word “beautiful” really applies. That blue silk dress really suits you.’ She chuckled mischievously. ‘I rather think that Gervase will bring forward this year’s proposal when he sees you.’

  As Florrie groaned, they both burst out laughing.

  Then they sobered.

  ‘Your Hon. Tim is such a lovely man, but he’s a lucky one too: to be marrying you. You’re so strong and – and daring, and he’s so proud of you.’

  ‘Thank you, Florrie darling,’ Isobel said with a catch in her throat. Then suddenly she chuckled. ‘Just look at this.’ She raised the hem of her gown. ‘How daring is that?’

  Florrie laughed as she saw that the garters Isobel was wearing to hold up her white stockings were threaded through with purple, green and white ribbons.

  ‘Now, it’s time I was going,’ Florrie said. ‘I’ll tell Gervase you’re ready. And, darling Iso, I’ll see you at the church porch.’ They kissed each other’s cheek. ‘Be happy, Iso,’ Florrie whispered, her voice husky with emotion. Tears glistened in Isobel’s eyes and, not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

  As Florrie descended the stairs, Gervase was in the hall. He looked up at her and held out his hand to help her down the last few steps.

  ‘You look wonderful, Florrie darling.’

  ‘Thank you, Gervase. And your sister looks lovely too, so don’t you forget to tell her so.’

  ‘I won’t.’ He led her out of the door and handed her into the carriage, tucking a rug warmly around her knees, though she scarcely needed it.

  The route up to the church was difficult, for there was only a mud track up the grassy slope. Today, though, it was fine and dry and so most of the guests walked up. But Gervase had insisted that Florrie and the bride should travel in the carriage. Leaving Florrie at the church gate, the carriage returned to the Manor to bring the bride and her brother.

  The service, apart from the solemn moments of the exchange of vows, was a merry one. The vicar kept his address light-hearted – teasing almost – and his words lifted the spirits of everyone there. For, though never mentioned, thoughts of the war were never very far from anyone’s mind.

  After the service, the bride and groom led the way back to the Manor, walking down the hill in the late autumn sunshine, followed by all those who loved them.

  ‘Lady Lee – Mrs Maltby,’ Gervase addressed Lady Leonora and Augusta in concern. ‘Would you like to ride in the carriage? Perhaps Mrs Edgar would care to—’

  He got no further, for Augusta said, ‘Good Heavens, no, Gervase. I’m happy to walk with you all.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss this. This is such a beautiful setting for a country wedding. Just perfect.’ Lady Leonora’s eyes misted as she watched her son and new daughter-in-law setting off down the hill as if stepping out into their new life. ‘Though I think Henry,’ Lady Smythe referred to her husband, who’d been persuaded to leave the sanctuary of their country home and travel to ‘foreign’ parts, ‘might be very glad to ride back. His gout is bothering him cruelly today.’

  They turned to see a portly gentleman hobbling with a walking stick.

  ‘The dear man never complains,’ Lady Lee said softly. ‘But I fear he’s often in great pain.’

  Gervase hurried towards Lord Smythe and beckoned for the carriage. When he’d helped him into it, he returned to the ladies.

  ‘Thank you, Gervase, and now, you may escort Augusta and me back to the wedding breakfast.’

  He’d hoped to walk with Florrie, but gallantly he smiled at the two older women and held out an arm to each of them.

  The rest of the day passed happily and it wasn’t until everyone stood on the front terrace of the Manor and waved the couple off on their honeymoon that a feeling of gloom settled on the gathering when Clara dissolved into heartbreaking tears once more. Even Lady Leonora, watching her only son drive away, had to bite down hard on her lip and hold her head high. Lord Smythe patted his wife’s hand comfortingly and murmured, ‘There, there, dear heart.’

  Florrie clung to Gervase’s arm and fought back the tears. ‘Oh, Gervase, what’s going to happen? Will we ever be all together again?’

  ‘I wish I knew, my dear. I only wish I knew.’

  What happened – when the bride and groom returned six weeks later – was that Tim left for military training and a dreadful row broke out between Isobel and Gervase.

  ‘You can’t possibly expect me to stay here at Bixley on my own. I’ll go mad. I must have something to do.’

  ‘You’d have plenty to do,’ Gervase growled, uncharacteristically angry. ‘Running the estate is a full-time job.’

  The argument between brother and sister had been raging since early morning and now, over the dinner table, it seemed to be reaching fever pitch. Isobel was emotional and Gervase’s frown deepened.

  ‘You’ve a perfectly capable estate manager in Mr Tring, Gervase,’ Isobel reasoned. ‘And I’m sure Florrie’s father would be on hand to give him advice if there were any real problems.’

  ‘I’m sure he would, but it’s hardly fair on him, Iso. He’ll have plenty of his own problems with this war. He’s lost several of the young estate workers already. Oh,’ he added hastily as he saw Florrie’s eyes widen, ‘I don’t mean literally. I mean they’ve volunteered.’

  Florrie lowered her glance, biting her lip to keep silent and wishing herself anywhere but sitting between them. But the atmosphere at home since James’s departure had been tense. Clara had taken to her bed and scarcely a civil word passed between Augusta and Edgar. But here, listening to the normally loving brother and sister arguing so heatedly, was as bad, if not worse. Now Florrie wished she hadn’t accepted their invitation to dine with them. This discussion was none of her business.

  ‘Besides, I don’t see why you have to go yet,’ Isobel went on. ‘At least wait until you’re called up.’

  Gervase sighed. ‘Iso, I want to go.’

  ‘So do I,’ Isobel said grimly, ‘I want to go nursing, but you’re expecting me to give up my plans.’ Her mouth pursed as she muttered, ‘Just because I’m just a woman, I suppose.’

  Now Gervase smiled and his fond glance included Florrie too. He even chuckled as he said, ‘I’d put my shirt on either of you against the Kaiser. He’d run a mile.’

  Florrie smiled and even Isobel’s mouth twitched.

  Gervase’s expression sobered and he sighed. ‘Iso, you’re needed here. Really you are. Good though Tring is, he can’t handle the financial side of things. And it wouldn’t be fair to ask Mr Maltby, now would it? You must see that.’

  ‘Our accountant can handle that side of things, surely?’ It seemed she had an answer for everything. ‘And besides, rumour around the estate has it that you’ve already spoken to Florrie’s father.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Gervase admitted reluctantly, ‘but only to – to be on hand to give advice if – if you needed it.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Isobel was offended. ‘You don’t actually trust me to run it on my own then? There has to be a man in the background to help the little woman—’

  ‘Iso!’

  Florrie spoke up for the first time. ‘Sleep on it. Both of you. I don’t like to see you quarrelling. It isn’t like you. Either of you.’

  Brother and sister looked at each other and then smiled.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ Isobel said softly. ‘I can’t remember us ever falling out quite as badly as this. Oh, we bicker a bit – all brothers and sisters do . . .’

  We don’t, Florrie thought. James and I don’t. A fresh wave of fear and sorrow washed over her as she thought of the boy she loved and the untold dangers he would surely have to face. But, for once, she held her wayward tongue.

  They went to bed still with nothing resolved, and the following morning Isobel came down looking pale and decidedly queasy. She refused breakfast. ‘It must be all this
upset with Gervase, Florrie. I’ve hardly slept. I hate falling out with him, but I must stick to my guns. What on earth would Lady Lee think of me if I chickened out now? Hardly the actions of a suffragette devotee!’

  ‘I don’t think Lady Lee would think anything of the sort,’ Florrie said, glancing anxiously at Isobel. The young woman looked positively ill this morning. ‘And I expect Tim would be relieved.’

  Isobel gave an unladylike – but wholly characteristic – snort. ‘No doubt,’ she said tartly.

  Gervase entered the room with two letters in his hand. He went to stand near Isobel’s chair and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then, suddenly, he bent and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Dear Iso, I’m sorry. Don’t let us part with bad feeling between us.’

  Isobel drew in a breath and looked up at him. ‘Part?’ Then she noticed the letters he carried. He nodded.

  ‘This one addressed to me is telling me I have to report for duty next week. And this one,’ he held out the other envelope, ‘is – I think – the one both you and Florrie have been waiting for. I recognize Lady Lee’s hand.’

  Isobel stared at it for a moment and then took it from him with trembling fingers.

  ‘Oh, open it, Iso,’ Florrie urged. ‘What does she say?’

  Isobel scanned the single page of Lady Lee’s scrawling handwriting. ‘Not very much, really. Just – just that if we can go back to London now she should have definite news for us in a day or so.’ Isobel glanced up. ‘She must be fairly sure. She wouldn’t ask us to go back otherwise.’

  Florrie glanced up at Gervase, fearful that the quarrel was going to break out again. But Gervase put his hand on his sister’s shoulder and smiled down at her. ‘You go, Iso. I know it’s what you want. I’ll sort something out before I leave.’

  The two young women watched as he wrinkled his brow. ‘I’m to report next Monday, so that doesn’t leave me much time.’ He turned away, murmuring, ‘I’d better see Tring and then ride over and see your father, Florrie.’

  As he strode out of the room, Florrie said, ‘Whatever made him change his mind? He seemed so adamant last night that you should stay here.’

  Iso was thoughtful. ‘Oh, that’s Gervase. He’s so kind-hearted really and can usually be relied upon to see the other person’s point of view.’ Softly, she added, ‘He’s a good sort, Florrie. You could do a lot worse, you know.’

  Twenty-Two

  Isobel and Florrie boarded the train to London and the Richards’ town house. And it wasn’t many days before Lady Leonora came with the news.

  ‘You’re to go along to the VAD headquarters in Piccadilly and volunteer for hospital work.’

  ‘Where? In France?’ Florrie asked eagerly.

  Lady Lee shook her head. ‘Not immediately, my dear. You must have some training first. I believe you have to have certificates in first aid and home nursing, at the very least, to be accepted as a VAD nurse. Many of the hospitals throughout the country are giving volunteers practical experience, though you should be warned – a lot of the professional nurses don’t welcome them.’

  ‘But we want to go to France – or Belgium. To the Front, if necessary,’ Florrie persisted.

  Lady Lee smiled at the young woman’s spirit. It was that same spirit that had equipped her to undertake militant acts for the sake of her beliefs, and to take the consequences so bravely. And now, she was prepared to face unknown horrors for the patriotic defence of her country. ‘Well, you can make it clear that you’re willing to go to France, if needed.’ Then her smile faded. ‘Florrie, my dear, there’s just one thing you ought to know. The age range for VADs is twenty-one to forty-eight. And – and I think you need to be twenty-three to work in the war zone.’

  Florrie stared at her. Then her mouth tightened. ‘If my little brother, James, can lie about his age and be accepted, then so can I.’

  Now Lady Lee chuckled. ‘I thought that would be your answer. And, Isobel, my dear,’ she went on, ‘I think you should take off your wedding ring and keep the fact that you are married secret. I’m not sure if they welcome married women, and I know how keen you are to go.’ She shrugged. ‘Personally, I think it’s ridiculous, but there you are. You can always put your ring on a tiny chain around your neck. Tim will understand, I know.’

  ‘Well, I shall continue to wear my suffragette brooch whether they like it or not,’ Florrie declared.

  ‘So, how do I look?’

  The two young women faced each other in Florrie’s bedroom. They were both dressed identically in ankle-length cotton dresses, a white apron with a red cross on the bib, a stiff white collar, black woollen stockings and sturdy, sensible shoes.

  ‘You look great,’ Isobel said. ‘But how do we fasten our caps on?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue,’ Florrie said cheerfully. ‘Let’s wear these cloaks and bonnets to travel to the hospital and then get someone there to show us how to put these white caps on when we go on the wards.’ She grinned. ‘If they let us anywhere near the patients. Come on, we’d better go, else we’ll be late, and that would never do on our first day.’

  A little while later they were standing meekly in front of Sister Blackstock’s desk whilst her steely gaze seemed to be boring right through them. The woman pursed her mouth.

  ‘So, you’ve come to tend the fevered brows and hold the hands of heroes, have you?’ Her sarcasm was evident and her feelings abundantly clear. Florrie guessed the sister to be in her mid-thirties. She was tall and slim. Her large nose dominated her face and consequently her mouth seemed small in comparison, but her bright-blue eyes were sharp and intelligent.

  With surprising humility, Florrie said quietly, ‘We’ve come to help wherever we can be useful, Sister. We realize we’ve a lot of training to do before we could even think of going to France, but—’

  The woman’s lip curled. ‘Oh, I think we can safely say the war will be long over by the time you two could be let loose amongst wounded soldiers. However, if you mean what you say, we can certainly make use of you.’ The look in her eyes told them that she didn’t expect them to last out the first week. ‘Several of our professional nurses have been released for work at the Front and so we’re short-staffed.’ She stood up and moved around the desk, leading the way out of the room. ‘Come along, I’ll introduce you to the women’s medical ward. That’s my ward and you’ll be in my charge.’ As she opened the door and walked through it, Florrie was sure she heard the sister mutter under her breath, ‘More’s the pity.’

  At first, they were treated as ward skivvies, cleaning, washing and at the beck and call of everyone. But Sister Blackstock was the one who worked them the hardest. ‘She never gives us a moment’s peace,’ Florrie moaned as they went home in a hansom cab at the end of their first week. ‘Thank goodness for a day off tomorrow. I’m sure I could sleep for a fortnight.’

  By the middle of the second week, Florrie said, ‘I was actually allowed near a patient today. I spoon-fed the poor old dear in the end bed. You know the one?’

  Isobel, looking white with fatigue, nodded. ‘Count yourself lucky. All I’ve done is wash floors and carry bedpans backwards and forwards. And the ward we’re on is for old women, Florrie. How is that ever going to help us nurse wounded soldiers?’

  ‘I know. I’m going to have a word with Lady Lee tomorrow. You’d think they’d be screaming out for a couple of fit and eager young women to go to the Front, wouldn’t you? But no, here we are, willing and able, and all we do is scrub, scrub, scrub.’

  But Lady Lee could do no more. ‘You’ll have to be patient, Florrie, my dear. I’m sure it’s a test of stamina.’

  ‘Oh, it’s that all right. Though I’m worried about Isobel. She looks awfully tired.’

  At the end of their second week, only a few days before Christmas, as they alighted from the hansom carrying them home and staggered up the steps, Meredith opened the front door.

  ‘Good evening, ma’am. Miss Florrie. Lucy has your baths ready and supper will be served
in an hour.’

  ‘Oh, Meredith, you’re an angel,’ Florrie said, pulling herself up the stairs towards her bedroom. She heard a sound behind her and looked back to see that Isobel was sagging against the butler, and poor Meredith was having difficulty in holding her from falling onto the floor. Florrie rushed back down, her tiredness forgotten. They eased Isobel to the floor and Florrie turned her on to her side. She loosened Isobel’s collar.

  ‘Shall I send for the doctor, miss?’

  ‘I think it’s only because she’s so weary, but – yes, perhaps you’d better. Gervase – and Tim – would never forgive me if it’s more serious.’

  After only a few seconds, Isobel moaned and started to come round. She tried to sit up, but Florrie said firmly, ‘Lie still, Iso.’

  ‘What – am I doing down here?’ Isobel murmured and lifted her head again.

  ‘No, Iso, lie there for a moment or two. Meredith is calling the doctor.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need to fuss. I just feel so – so sick all the time. I think it must be the smells in that place . . .’ But she did as Florrie asked her and lay still, her eyes closed.

  Meredith came hurrying back into the hall. ‘I’ve telephoned for the doctor, miss. He’s out on a call, but as soon as he gets home, his wife will give him the message.’

  ‘Do you think you can stand now, Iso, and we’ll help you into the morning room?’

  ‘I – think so.’

  Between them, Florrie and Meredith helped Isobel onto the sofa, where she lay back against the cushions looking pale and drawn. Lucy was summoned to fetch a drink of water, and Florrie held the glass to Isobel’s lips. ‘Well, I suppose this is nursing, but it wasn’t quite what I expected – or wanted,’ Florrie tried to be light-hearted, but in truth she was worried about her friend. She wished the doctor would hurry up.

  The Richards’ London doctor was a bluff, no-nonsense man, but kindly and would move heaven and earth, as the saying went, to help a patient. As, indeed, he had when he’d helped Gervase get Florrie out of prison. She greeted him in the doorway.